Serendipity
by twitchytwain
Summary: Two political speechwriters fall in love before they find out they are working for candidates on opposite sides
1. Chapter 1

**One is the loneliest Number**

**#**

The queasy streets staggered in a haze and Amy narrowed her eyes trying to make out the shapes in the giddy miasma. Light flurries of snow were starting to fall around the city, gathering on the mobs shoulders, drifting and settling onto the heads. Amy chugged cold crisp air as the pulsating wave of a hostile crowd claimed her and held her hostage. She vanished inside its sultry blackness before shoving and pushing her way through to the dry air again.

Her eyes chanced upon a New York Post headline about the Governor's race and she groaned thinking about the coming elections. As a political speechwriter, she was in for a long and hard season as her candidate was up for re-election. Leo Boykewich was already planning his acceptance speech and the campaigns were just beginning to sprout around New York, talk about an overzealous ego. Amy peered up at a banner for another candidate as it flapped in the wind high above Wall Street. The truth was with all her complaining and scowling, Amy loved being a political speechwriter. She thrived on the action, lived for the drama of dirty politics. She was a slave to her passion and would've traded her soul to become a White House speechwriter. It was a thankless anonymous job but she loved it. The hours were long and strenuous, the eye-creams becoming ridiculously expensive with each year but it was all worth it when the crowds roused to their feet in applaud because of something she wrote.

Tucking her chin into the high collar of her cashmere coat, Amy ducked into her favourite Starbucks.

xXx

It must have been Tuesday, Ricky thought. He always saw her on Tuesdays. She seemed to stalk him from the Starbucks on ninety nine Wall Street to the food truck serving spicy roti's from Trinidad. Ricky thrust his shoulders above the suits of Wall Streets to get a better look at her. He watched as she ordered her coffee black, no sugar and wondered why she even bothered to come to Starbucks.

He had never approached her, never uttered a word to her beyond a grunt as they both existed the door at the same time. What would he have said? Hi, my name is Ricky Underwood and I'm a political speechwriter. Logically, it would have sufficed as a line, this was Manhattan after all but she didn't seem like the type of girl who got reeled by tired lines. Naturally being a Democrat, Ricky had let her choose how it went at the exit and she being a feminist had elected to let him go first. Always the same tango at the door for both of them without so much as eye-contact.

Someone shoved past him carrying a vanilla latte, undoubtedly a Republican, Ricky thought shaking his head. They were the only ones with no imagination, he probably subjected his poor girlfriend to a five minute missionary position every Tuesday and the lattes gave him a boost. Ricky chuckled at his crazy imaginings and wished he could whip out the same enthusiasm for Pappas's campaign. It wasn't that he didn't believe in his candidate, heck Jack was a former football hero and a war veteran. The Republicans would have killed to have him on their team. Truth was the only thing that hurt Jack's campaign was Leo Boykewich; the man was as iconic as the charging bull on Wall Street. He spoke to the simple Americans using simple sentences and voters liked him. That was politics for you, it wasn't poetry, it was fiction but it certainly wasn't Hemmingway.

"One caramel apple spice" Ricky ordered then waited for the barista to come back with his much needed cup. His eyes raced, seeking through the suits inside the brightly lit coffee shop searching for the brunette in the expansive coat. Several minutes later, the barista handed him the cup topped with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. Biting back a scowl at the lack of pecan nuts, he staggered toward the door as he dragged his hand down his tired face. Ricky hauled himself toward the door as she was exiting in time for their usual speechless dance but today would be different as fate lent him a weary hand. In a flash, she was crashing into him. Her knees buckled as she collided into his chest. Instinctively, Ricky's arms draped around her and he smelled her hair, his nose buried deep in its dark pin-straight strands. Ricky smelled her faint oriental perfume as her hair tickled his face and his fingers crawled down her cream coat like daring spiders. Her scent was thrilling, an escape from the stench of urine, burning cigarettes, brewing coffee and weekend old whisky sweat from the young financiers that were passing them on the street.

"Careful, "Ricky simpered, his breath hovering in front of him in the cold "My face is not insured" he said trying to sound charming but regretted it soon after he had uttered the sentence.

"Thank you" she said softly, barely audible in all the traffic noise, the drilling machines and the coffee orders pealing inside the shop. The door slammed again as someone shoved past them.

"I'm Ricky," he said with a smile that tried to be daring but somehow came out looking desperate.

"I'm Amy"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys; I'm always grateful for a little feedback…**

**Laws of Attraction**

**#**

"That looks like it might stain, "Ricky said handing her a napkin, his dark hair tossing in the quickening icy breeze.

"Shoot!" Amy cried snagging the napkin from his hand to wipe the blooming stain on her favourite coat. It had been her first luxurious purchase to celebrate her job as Leo Boykewich's speechwriter, a Dior cashmere coat. It was three years old now but it still pulled off the clean polished look that would eventually propel her to the white house.

"Let me make it up to you" Ricky smiled sluggishly and Amy was struck by the lewdness in his dark eyes, lascivious beneath the crystalized snow that fringed them. She had not had time to formulate a rebuttal before he quickly added, "I'm buying you this great lobster bisque, "he was smiling, head cocked to the side.

"There's a place around the corner" he continued, jerking his head and motioning to someplace behind him.

"I'm a vegetarian" Amy replied shaking her head and tossing the stained napkin inside her crocodile bag.

"Of course you are" he said "did I mention their superb garden vegetable soup which comes with Lindt chocolate to complement the soup?" he said suddenly coming across like a waitron in his attempts to seduce her. Amy opened her mouth to say something, to save him from himself but he halted her struggles for speech.

"But wait, you don't have much of a sweet tooth since you order your coffee black, no sugar" he quickly said as a wind thrown plastic bag scattered past them.

"Do I know you?" she asked, eyebrow arched as she studied him meticulously.

"I should hope so; we've been having this _Last Tango in Paris_ thing by the door of this Starbucks for months now"

"Hadn't noticed, "She said pushing past him "guess you're not that noticeable"

"Hey, stop playing coy" Ricky called running after her "you noticed me the moment you crashed into me, it took you precisely three seconds to form an attraction"

"I formed an attraction?" she scoffed "is there a busload of crazies touring Manhattan today?"

"Stop with hate crimes, will you?" he simpered "you like me and it took your eyes three seconds to realize that, dilated pupils and all"

She narrowed her eyes at him, casting them over his dark curls as dim sunlight and wind pursued them. She could tell he was the type that owned too many hair products which roughly meant he never spent nights at a partner's apartment. How was he going to haul all those products around Manhattan and still look good the morning after? Amy could see it now, long tedious nights spent at his place watching the Yankees on his big screen and fighting over toasted bagels every morning.

"I know women" Ricky said, combing a hand through his hair.

"You know I would expect that line from him maybe, "Amy snapped pointing to a random man in a slim-fit Armani suit and a grey tweed coat "not you, you're not the type"

"And what type is he?"

"The type who wears power suits and can get away with ridiculous statements like _I know women_"

"And what type am I?"

"The type that doesn't have a tailor "she said sizing him up from his navy trench coat, charcoal t-shirt to his sleet rimed tattered sneakers "you should invest in one" she added, her eyes gliding over the animal print design on his sneakers.

"I'm twenty four"

"And yet you dress like you're thirteen"

"What are you, sixty going on twenty three?"

"That's my cue" Amy said raising her right arm to hail down a cab from the scores of yellow cab driving down the financial district" Good-bye Ricky"

"What you can dish it but you can't take it?" Ricky yelled with a chuckle.

"It's Richard," he called squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chest trying to look respectable "Richard Underwood"

Amy shook her head as she climbed into the yellow taxi, carefully smoothing down the hem of her coat.

"Forty three and Madison" she told the cab driver as her mobile phone came alive in her handbag. She plucked it out, vibrating and whirling around in her hand before she snapped it open.

"Do you think people need sex to survive?"

"Adrian, Good morning"

"I've been lying naked in bed all morning-"

"Naturally"

"And I've been thinking if I really need sex to survive"

"I think you mean oxygen"

"No, I mean sex, passion" Adrian said "Do you think I'll die a slow miserable death if I just stop having it"

"I don't know, I'm still here…still breathing"

"Yes but you're not living Amy, you're just breathing"

"Same thing, listen can we put the sex talk on the back burner" she said catching the cabbie's faint smile in the review mirror. Amy grinned back at him, rubbing the nape of her stiff neck.

"How's your article on the governor coming along?" she asked as her eyes wandered along the driver's littered dashboard. They darted past a naked Buddha bobbing its head, a string of fat beads handing from the review mirror and settled on the burning incense that pricked her eyes.

"Oh, it _came _alright, "Adrian chuckled huskily "it practically wrote itself" she said breathlessly.

Amy paused for a minute, her mind reeling over Adrian's statement, Adrian naked in bed at nine o'clock on a Tuesday morning and not at her chaotic office at the New York Times.

"Adrian, "she began slowly "what-did-you-do?"

"I might have slept with Ben Boykewich" she said over the receiver and Amy shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was Adrian's second escapade with a politician after her July affair with Jack Pappas. Granted, Ben Boykewich was not a politician but he was still the governor's son.

"Sleeping with two politicians doesn't make you Marilyn Monroe, you know"

"Technically, Ben is not a politician, he's an attorney. I'm not as ambitious as Marilyn"

"Adrian, I really don't care," she puffed as she locked back a strand of hair behind her ear, "I need you to get dressed and put your journalist's hat back on then get back to work!-"

"Hey, what are you-?"Amy spun around as the cab door swung open and Ricky darted inside, slouching down into the seat right next to her.

xXx

"I'm catching a cab" he said simply, shrugging his shoulders.

"This is my cab" she huffed glaring at him.

"We'll share, you don't have problem with that right Mr Sanjir?" Ricky said straining his eyes to read the cabbie's name off his license on the dashboard. The cabbie shook his head with a broad grin.

"See, this is what I like about this city," Ricky grinned leaning back into the seat "you come here, make money and live your dream, _New York, New York_"

"Where are you from Mr Sanjir?"

"India"

"Ah, don't you just love our city's open border policy"

"We don't have an open border policy, our governor is a Republican"

"Did you hear that Mr Sanjir?"

"Republicans loath the idea of immigrants breaking through their precious borders and yet here you are, an immigrant in the great city of New York and you have a Republican sticker on your bumper"

"Is this false advertising Mr Sanjir, are you playing a shrewd game of politics or are you really a Republican?"

"You don't have to answer that Sir" Amy said, nudging him with her elbow.

"Right, he doesn't it have to answer" Ricky laughed "Mr Sanjir you can plead the Fifth Amendment on everything"

"Okay, Mr Sanjir please stop the cab. I'm getting off here"

"Why do you keep running away from me?"

"I don't like you"

"I don't like the way you dress, I don't like the things you say and your hair bother's me"

"Oh come on, I still owe you that soup" Ricky yelled as she slammed the door on his face. Throwing his head back against the car seat, Ricky sighed instantly aware of the strong scent of spicy cinnamon in the taxi. _How had he managed to mess that up?_

"What are you looking at?" he said, watching the driver through heavy lidded eyes.

"Do you know that lady?" the cabbie asked, evidently amused by what had transpired.

"Is this a trick question? No I don't know that _lady_"

"But you'd like to?" Mr Sanjir winked, his smile stretching even wider across his sunburnt face. Ricky merely waved him off with his hand as he turned his attention back toward the congested streets.

"She works for the governor of New York" the driver offered and Ricky bolted back up, his heart racing.

"Just my luck" Ricky sighed running his hand down his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Miracle on Wall Street**

**#**

Amy ducked through the revolving doors of the Trump building, past the crowds milling around the lobby and into the recess of a swamped elevator. She shifted uncomfortably, her Manolo Blahniks clanking on the shingled marble as she moved around the stifling heat of the elevator. Amy always hated the forced intimacy of elevators but she had learned to accept the lack of space in overly populated New York. Her mother still failed to understand why she had chosen to leave beautiful California with its perfect weather and Amy always insisted that she loved New York's sterile air and there was the culture.

The doors slid open with a somnolent ding and she squeezed her way past sharply dressed politicians who looked like financiers. She could hardly tell the difference anymore. Politicians were now employing the services of stylists with as much zeal as they had employing campaign managers. She waded through a maze of miniature cubicles with stifling grey carpeting as she headed for her own corner office with a street side view. It wasn't exactly plush and luxurious and the chair was third grade leather but the gold plate still read Amy Juergens on the door.

"You should put some baking soda on that"

Amy looked up to find Madison, her research assistant peeking into her office. She was wearing her green Chanel sweater again, she'd been wearing it religiously since she read an article on Vanity Fair about green being the wonder colour for redheads.

"I'll have someone from the cleaner's pick it up" Amy half shrugged examining the stain again as she slid out of the coat. She clenched her jaw as her eyes dragged along the map of a stain. Her precious coat was practically ruined.

"What happened, taxi wars?" the redhead asked walking toward the desk with a pile of research files.

"Don't ask, some idiot crashed into me"

'Ah, the romance of New York sidewalks" Madison chuckled placing the files on the desk in front of Amy.

"Have you seen the latest polls?"

"Yeah," Amy said leafing through a pile of papers.

"Jack Pappas s steadily climbing, guess that gym membership is paying off, not to mention his new look. Kudos to his campaign manager. " Madison said crossing her arms across her chest.

"Are you trying to say that female voters base their votes on a candidate's looks?" Amy cocked a trimmed eyebrow at her friend.

"No, I'm saying I would vote for Jack Pappas because he's hot" Madison said wink a wink.

"If you were a Democrat" Amy affirmed still eyeballing the sprightly research assistant.

"If I were a Democrat "Madison finally said rolling her eyes.

"Morning, "

They both jerked up at the knock on the door where an unnaturally beaming Lauren stood glowing with her six months pregnant form in a billowing pastel blouse.

"Morning Lauren"

"What's this?" Amy sighed inspecting the tiny Tiffany box.

"A valentine gift" Lauren said rolling up the sleeves of her Prada blouse.

"You're giving valentine gifts? I think hell just froze over"

"Ok, it was a gift from some staffer; I'm merely passing the buck"

"This staffer knows you're happily married right?" Amy chuckled looking up at her old college friend and colleague.

"Speaking of valentines…" Madison broke in with a wide grin.

"No" Amy dead-panned glaring at her.

"I haven't even said anything yet" Madison moaned resting her buttocks on the corner of Amy's desk.

"You don't have to, we know you "Lauren responded with a biting frown.

"Amy-"

"Don't take the bait Amy" Lauren warned.

"Amy, there's this great guy that I know you're going to like"

"No" the brunette shook her head tucking strands of hair behind both ears.

"Marc Molina. He's recently divorced and-"

"He's the youngest district attorney in New York, Republican with a penchant for hunting partridges in upstate New York. " Amy said knowingly "I'm not interested, besides I have front row tickets to the Knicks"

ooo

"I am drinking from the cup of victory" Jack bellowed twirling the squat glass around in his hand.

"Victory?" Ricky mused eyeing him as he tossed ice inside the hefty glass of scotch.

"Have you seen the polls my friend?"

"You mean the popularity polls" Ricky retorted.

"Don't hate Underwood; it doesn't look good on you" Jack chuckled handing his friend and speechwriter a fresh glass.

"Being popular with female voters doesn't carry much clout with the real polls" Ricky replied declining the drink with a shake of his head.

"I know JFK was popular with women" Grace, Jack's campaign manager called as she sauntered inside the tiny clustered office. Ricky groaned, slapping a hand down his face. He was so tired of the Jack and JFK comparisons but he could forgive the faux paus if it won his candidate the governorship.

"Would you just let me have this moment, I beat Leo Boykewich, the original New Yorker in these polls" Jack insisted as he tossing more scotch down his throat.

"Good looks and idealism won't win against Boykewich, we need brass balls" Ricky said.

"Said the inconsistent jerk-ass with commitment issues" Grace eyeballed him before snapping her head back toward the young candidate "Jack, ideas are like manure, worthless unless you spread them around"

"Yes Jack, your ideas are precious manure" Ricky called from his position by the small open window. In this position he had the perfect view of Grace's legs, legs that had been wrapped around him all of July. She'd stopped coming over his apartment during Fall and Ricky had blamed his faulty radiator.

"Jack, you have a lunch meeting with a donor at three" she said padding across the screen of her pink IPad.

"I thought that I was meeting an interest group"

"That's tomorrow" she said tossing back her chic blond bob and biting her bottom lip.

ooo

"You know there should be a law against how good looking you are" Ricky said as they left Jack's tiny office. They zigzagged through a mess of blue cubicles stacked tightly against each other like domino chips. Their office space was shit but the energy of the young party was infectious. They were all like ferrets in a cage high on too much coffee and Ricky loved it.

"They should arrest you for being an ass-hat" she gave him a side-long glance.

"You wanna grab a drink tonight?"

"I have a date" she said fixing her campaign button with Jack Pappas's face printed on it.

"Really, does he have brass balls?"

"Bigger than yours, that's for sure" she cocked her head, eyeing him through her fluttering eyelashes. "We're actually driving up to Upstate New York for the Valentine weekend"

"The predictions of a snowstorm aren't deterring you?"

"All the better for snuggle time"'

"You're a cruel cruel woman Grace"

"Why couldn't we work things out?" Ricky licked his lips, eyes focused on the rise and fall of her pencil skirt.

"Cause I earn more money than you, "she chuckled glancing over her shoulder "oh, and you're married to politics remember?"

"So, no date?"

"No date, big-shot"

"Your loss" he winked and smiled broadly.

ooo

Ricky stared blearily at his laptop, the letters on the screen were beginning to bink and blur in front of him. He tore his eyes away from the screen to watch knots of people plod through the snow. He was bone tired working on his thirteenth draft for Jack's speech for his address with the unions. Ricky was attempting to craft that lofty moment, that great crescendo in Jack's speech that would propel him to JF Kennedy's level-if that were ever possible. He sighed and grinned to himself as he leaned back into his seat. His foster dad always said that politics was the art of the possible and Ricky had enough heart and creativity to pull a rabbit out of a hat. He had pulled enough miracle papers when he was at the community college to earn him an internship at the New York Post.

The soft tap on the corner of his cubicle yanked him from his thoughts.

"I got that _research_ you asked for" Henry said tapping a file against his hand. He lingered around the entry, eyes flickering pensively around the cubicle loaded papers, magazine clippings, newspaper cut-outs. The was not one single photograph or anything personal of Ricky's expect for his framed journalism degree mounted on the felt covered wall.

"The Amy file?" Ricky arched an eyebrow, hand reaching for the dossier.

"Yup, Amy Juergens. She's Leo's Boykewich's speechwriter" Henry said still clutching the black folder

"I imagine if you hit it off with her, we won't even need a budget for opposition research anymore"

"Henry, _really_?" Ricky drawled snatching the file from Henry's hands.

"You're very transparent Ricky"

"Thank you" Ricky smiled flicking the corner of the file his index finger.

"You got any great Valentine's plans?" Henry smirked playing with a miniature statue of liberty on Ricky's desk.

"No and do me a favor, don't tell me about your boring plans with your wife"

"You're like the Grinch who stole romance"

"I'm a red blooded male with front row tickets to the Knicks" Ricky grinned propping his legs on his wobbly desk and leaning back into his chair "life doesn't get better than that"

"Great, whatever" Henry mumbled heading for the door "listen in case I think you're thinking what you're thinking, " he paused letting the perplexed look settle on Ricky's face "espionage Ricky, your game not mine. Anyway," Henry cleared his throat "The target frequencies a bar on 75 Wall Street every Wednesday"

"The target" Ricky repeated spying his research assistant.

"Amy Juergens"

"Right, your words not mine"

"She frequents this bar on 75 Wall Street, Andaz"

"Right, that yuppie hotel bar with all those scumbag stockbrokers"

"You got it" Henry grinned slapping his hand lightly against the cubicle before existing. Ricky groaned fisting his hair before he began to flip through the file. He grinned at Henry's assumption that his interest on Amy was based solely on surveillance. As if this Amy could reveal crucial information about Leo Boykewich's campaign in the heat of the moment. As if he, Ricky Underwood could play a spy.

He wondered how much of a talker Amy Juergens was and how much of a talker she was after several glasses of ridiculously expensive wine at the Andaz Hotel.


	4. Chapter 4

BAD MOON RISING

The glare of neon lights impaled Ricky's eyes as he stepped out on the curb to hail down a cab. Sticking his chin inside the collar of his coat, he thrust himself inside a taxi and leaned over to instruct the cabbie about his destination.

"Seventy Five, Wall Street" he said, already spying the meter. Sitting back into the leather bench, he leaned his head against the head rest and heaved a heavy sigh. He was exhausted, what he really needed was a nice cold beer and to pass out in front of the TV with a replay of the Knicks vs Lakers game. He had practically dosed off when the shudder of the cab jolted him up and blinking around owlishly, he realized that they were parked outside the Andaz hotel and the damn meter was still running. He paid the tab, hunched his shoulders against the onslaught of snowfall and dove inside the hotel.

The space immediately swallowed him, etched glass with floor to ceiling windows. Ricky cleared his throat, trying to look inconspicuous as he scanned the bar, eyes darting from the young financiers flocking toward couches by a flickering fireplace, to the black lacquered tables dotted with a few patrons. He spotted her, huddled into a corner, exposed light bulbs looming above her head as she nestled a glass of red wine. She had that 'off the clock' look about her, like she had been hankering for a drink all afternoon and he sympathised.

Weaving through a few waiters rolling around service carts filled with drinks, he made his way toward the lonesome brunette.

"What's your poison?" he asked, settling in beside her.

"You!" Amy's eyes sprang up, a sneer toying with her painted lips. Ricky liked the colour, deep red suited her and her yellow dress played magic tricks with her brown eyes. She had colour today, he liked that. Somehow it made a wintry New York seem brighter, or maybe he'd spent too many hours thumping his laptop again.

"Fancy running into you here" Ricky grinned, motioning for a waiter.

"Careful, I'm packing heat" she placed a hand on her purse and took another giant sip of wine.

"Let me buy you a drink" he teased, wetting his lips.

"My mother warned me about talking to strange men in bars" she drawled in protest but her eyes told a different story. Ricky had enough dating experience to know the look, to read it and manipulate it. He considered himself somewhat of a _lady whisperer_, if there was ever such a thing.

"Playing it safe, where's the fun in that?" he scooted closer to her, catching a whiff of her perfume, feminine but not too saccharine. She continued with her quick, hefty sips, her eyes never leaving his. When the waiter finally got to their table, Ricky ordered a traditional draft beer, German because that was as cultural as he was willing to be.

"And another glass of wine for her" he added, gesturing at Amy with his head.

"Merlot" she told the server before draining her glass.

"I must apologise for my dreadful behaviour yesterday, had a terrible Monday at work" he turned back to her once the waiter was out of earshot.

"Don't we all?" Amy scoffed, rolling her coffee eyes.

"A student puked in my class" Ricky couldn't help rubbing the back of his neck as he said this, it was his obvious tell and he hoped that she wouldn't pick up on hid lie.

"Student?"

"I'm a teacher over at PS23" he lied with a straight face. Ricky, you're going down Broadway to hell, he thought as he smiled at her.

"Wow, a teacher" her eyes widened, "that's refreshing"

"It's got its hurdles but I love it, "he paused, taking his beer from the waiter. He took a long pull from it, watched as she tackled her fresh glass and then quickly added, "But I love the kids"

"Wow, and here I thought you were just a number's guy with a nose for bad politics"

"Bad politics?" he raised an eyebrow, studying the way her mouth moved as she spoke.

"Sorry, you clearly have a thing for the Democrats and I shouldn't hold it against you" Amy shrugged her shoulders, staring down into her drink.

"And you have a hard on for Republicans?" he asked, his eyes chasing her hand as she brushed a stray hair behind her ear. Amy paused, eyes narrowed as if she were trying to decipher the intricate workings of his vey male, very Democratic brain.

"I wouldn't use_ those_ words exactly" she said, tight lipped. Damn, she was stiff, right down to her prim dress and black coffee at Starbucks. Ricky's lips twitched, an amused smile forming across his face.

"What do you do?" he asked her, taking another swig from his draft.

"I work in politics"

"That's pretty broad, as a what, tea-lady or campaign manager"

"I'm a writer"

"Really, I like reading" he simpered, "So, you write about politics like a column on the New Yorker?"

"Not quite, I'm more behind the scenes"

"Really, like-"

"I'm a speech writer"

"For anyone I know or do you freelance?"

"I work for the governor of New York"

"That's pretty impressive, what an awesome job"

"It's not a job, it's a career" she corrected him rather quickly.

"What made you get into that?" he chose to ignore her icy glare, pushing on with the interrogation.

"Is this an interview? Cause it feels like an interview"

"Hardly, we have career days all the time at the school so I find stories about how people discovered their careers to be stimulating" he rolled the word _stimulating _on his tongue and watched her shift around in her seat.

"I fell in love with some old speech by JFK and found couldn't get the idea out of my head" she finnaly offered, darting her eyes away from his.

"The idea to become a Republican?"

"The idea of being a political speech writer"

"But you're a Republican"

"What does me being a Republican have anything to do with writing?"

"Well, your entire theory is flawed since you've sited Arthur Schlesinger Jr. as your hero; you don't get any more democratic than Schlesinger" he said "the man was JF Kennedy' damn speech writer!"

"I never said that Arthur Schlesinger Jr. was my hero, I simply said I liked JFK's speeches"

"Which were written by Arthur Schlesinger Jr." he corrected her, a smug smile erupting on his face.

"You're a lunatic"

"There are only two points I tell a Republican in order to win my argument, Nixon and Watergate "he grinned broadly, his eyes lighting up "That usually shuts them up"

"You really are a demented Democrat aren't you?"

"Need I remind you that Jack Pappas was named sexiest man in New York by the Post?"

"The staff at the paper was obviously drunk that day" scoffed, calling the waiter for another round.

* * *

><p>Amy ordered Bourbon cake, hoping it would match the one at the Blackbird in Chicago. She couldn't figure out while she was still here, seated so close to this Ricky guy and not at home watching reruns of Friends and gawking at Joey, whom she admits she would never date but was still nice to look at. She was on her fifth glass of wine and her muscles were telling. It was a nice floating sensation married with the swimming feeling of her head. She liked this feeling, this tipsiness and laziness of her wine-spent limbs.<p>

"Another one?" Ricky gestured to their empty glasses, raking a hand through his hair. Somehow that jolted her back to present scene and this teacher who didn't quite act like a teacher.

"I don't know, it's a school night" she said, pocking the cake with a fork.

"Come on, I know a great bar in the East Village, it has way more action than this yuppie dump" he coaxed and for once, Amy pondered his suggestion. It had been a very long day and she was sick of the piano bars dotting wall Street with their small tapas and expensive wine. She took a shaving of cake, smooth Bourbon flavours melting into her wine soaked mouth and licked her lips.

"Sure, why not" Amy smiled, "the night is still young"


End file.
